Page 65 of Salvaging Christmas

“Rudy,” he said, a little louder, causing Rudy to turn his way. “No matter what happens, we’ll get through this.”

“I don’t want anything to spoil tonight, Trev. That’s all.”

“Nothing will. I promise you.”

“Why would he come back?”

“Because he’s an insensitive prick. Because he’s an asshole and an egotistical bastard who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. Pick any of the above.”

Out on the jetty, a handful of people had gathered as the plane drew close. Fortunately, part of the pier’s construction—inches above the surface of the loch—allowed for the aircraft to dock right alongside. Old Tam stood waiting to moor the craft, a rope in one hand, the other stopping his flat cap from blowing away. Others stood farther away—including Rudy’s mother and father—waiting to greet the new arrivals. Lampposts along the pier illuminated the unfolding scene as the propellers slowed and stopped, as the doors opened and as, one by one, two bodies clambered out—a woman and a man. A tall and solid man. Mr Mortimer immediately moved forward to shake hands with the new arrivals before engaging the man in conversation.

“That’s Helen, but I don’t think it’s him,” said Rudy, breathing out a steamy sigh of relief. “I can’t be sure, but I think that’s François Debois. Come on, let’s go and find out—”

But before they could move, a scream of joy pierced the air behind them. Cheryl had hiked up the hem of her red dress and was sprinting in high heels, unsteadily and unceremoniously—but without a care—towards the passengers on the pier. Many of those gathered giggled at the spectacle, but something had caught her attention, and Rudy and Trevor moved forward to find out. When Cheryl flew into Helen’s arms, the penny finally dropped.

Cheryl’s angel had descended from the sky.

“When did that happen?” asked Rudy as they strode towards the new arrivals, noticing his father and mother disengaging from them and heading back to the house.

“I’m not really sure. The two of them simply clicked, I suppose. At some point, I’m going to need to speak to Cheryl.”

As they approached, he noticed Helen pulling bags from the plane and tossing them to the male passenger, as Cheryl stood by to help. After standing to one side for a moment, Rudy moved forward, and Trevor saw the smile of recognition light the man’s face.

“Rudolph bloody Mortimer. How the devil are you?”

Trevor stood back as the man shook Rudy’s hand forcefully then pulled him into a hug. Having finished, Helen grinned at the pair before closing the seaplane door and preparing to leap down onto the jetty next to Cheryl. After a couple of whispered words, a smiling Cheryl headed back to the house, with what Trevor guessed to be Helen’s large red rucksack in her hand.

“Hey, François. I thought you’d cried off,” said Rudy after releasing the fresh-faced rugby player. “That’s what Damian told me. Said you pulled out at the last minute, which is why he felt obliged to come in your place.”

“Pulled out? Damian told me I’d been officially dropped, that he was the one who’d been originally invited and was now free to come. Bloody annoying, actually. I’d cancelled other plans which were too late in the day to put back in place. But you know what Damian’s like. Whatever he says goes.”

“Damian is such a dick,” said Helen, folding her arms. “On our way back to Glasgow, he was all for flying back for the party, but somewhere along the way he must have got a better offer. Flew off to New York two nights ago. I only phoned François on the off chance. I was really looking forward to coming back for the ball.”

“Just the ball?” asked Trevor, which had Rudy chuckling. Helen grinned and her eye flicked up towards the house.

“And other things.”

“Well, I’m really grateful to you both,” said Rudy, standing between François and Helen and taking each of them by the arm while Helen took Trevor’s arm. “I’m afraid we’ve already had dinner, but there’s still plenty of buffet to be had. Come inside, into the warmth, and get something to eat and drink. I think we’ve got a bottle of our special twenty-year-old single malt you love so much.”

“Now we’re talking,” said François.

At eleven-thirty, just as the earlier excitement had finally died away, Mr Mortimer announced the start of their traditional end-of-year firework display. Outside, in the middle of the lawn, Tam lit the carefully prepared bonfire contained within a brick housing, a knee-high fence marking out a perimeter to stop people venturing too close. Then, working with the entertainment specialists, Ivan and his father readied themselves to set off fireworks. Lights inside the house and spotlights around the grounds were extinguished one by one until the area lay in near-total darkness, with the only illumination coming from the brightly burning bonfire.

The moment everyone stilled and quietened, the spectacle began.

Pink, purple, red, blue, silver and gold—whizzing, fizzling fireworks raced for the sky before exploding into showers of glittery snowflakes reflected in the dark surface of the loch. Oohs and aahs and gasps of glee rose from the crowd. Mobile phones captured the moments, especially the second wave bursting into a kaleidoscope of colour above the house, illuminating the white walls and turrets in a panoply of hues, like something out of a highland fairy tale.

As the clock neared midnight, Tam commanded everyone back into the house, where Mr Mortimer provided the countdown to the New Year. Immediately afterwards, as everyone around the room cheered, the quartet began playing Auld Lang Syne, many of those gathered singing along. Trevor and Rudy wished a Happy New Year to all their friends—old and new—as well as the hosts and other guests before finding each other again. Back in Rudy’s arms, Trevor felt at home, far happier than he had in years.

“You know, we sing this song every New Year, but I’ve never really understood the words,” said Trevor, resting his chin on Rudy’s shoulder as they slow-danced to the quartet’s haunting version of Auld Lang Syne.

“Penned by our very own Rabbie Burns. It’s a question, Trev. Should old acquaintances be forgotten, and never brought to mind? Then he repeats the phrase. Should old acquaintances be forgotten, as well as old times gone by? Obviously—for me, at least—the answer is no. We need to hang on to thoughts of friends and the times we had with them. If not, what else do we have when they’re not here anymore?”

Something in Rudy’s words filled Trevor with sadness. Would their time together be reduced to a memory next year? Of old times gone by? He peered out across the room and saw his friends dancing slowly together, with the addition of Helen and Cheryl. Then, softly, Rudy began to sing along to the music with such a beautiful baritone.

“For auld lang syne, my jo, for auld lang syne, we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”

“You’re killing me.”

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